


Tragedy and Comedy

by Krasimer



Series: The Summerhold Chronicles [9]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mind Manipulation, Someone guessed that I was going to write this. :D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:03:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6268828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krasimer/pseuds/Krasimer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have had this sitting in my files for a few weeks now, and I am sorry it has taken so long. </p><p>Tell me what you think?</p></blockquote>





	Tragedy and Comedy

"Oh..." came a soft moan, pained and almost lost in the sound of the storm still raging around.

Off in the distance, a wall collapsed and a group of people walked away, some of them carried by shadows. A cloud of Observants followed after, and a surge of panic caused the Ghostwriter to sit up. "If the Observants are here..." he whispered, spotting his pen and notebook on the ground, the feather frozen in place despite the wind that raged around him. "M-" he coughed, curling around his core. 

It felt like someone had taken a blunt object and repeatedly slammed it into the core of him.

"Maelstrom!" he called out, voice raspy with neglect. "Maelstrom, please, are you not here?" he dragged himself to his knees, wiping at his forehead with a sleeve, wincing at the slow ooze of ectoplasm. Around him, the storm grew worse, as if-

"Hey!"

Ghostwriter whipped around, his hair swirling around his face. "Yes?"

It was a teenager, his skin tone shifting between shades of grey and a brightly colored letterman jacket laid over his shoulders in contrast. His eyes were a bright green, and an indicator of his status as one of the dead. "You're that Ghostwriter guy, right? The- Well, not the one I know, that's for sure." he frowned, taking a step closer. "You're not gonna attack us again, right?"

His throat clenched tight, his knuckles pale against the binding of his book. "I attacked you?"

"You kind of..." the teenager gestured around them, indicating the rubble and the wreckage on the ground. "Did that." 

A wave of nausea flashed through him and he stumbled on his knees, dropping to sit on the solid ground. "I did not mean to." he whispered, hands shaking as he fixed his gaze on one point on the ground. "If there is any kindness you can show me, might it be helping me locate someone?"

Another ghost floated over, stepping protectively between the teenager and the Writer. "What's-"

"Freddy, I think he got clear of the mind zap he went through." the first of the two interrupted, his hand settling on the bicep of the other. His arms were curiously bare, and the look of the other's outfit screamed a description of himself. They were a couple, they had to be, a matched set that felt no qualms about sharing pieces of themselves. "You're the original Writer. Are you lookin' for the Storm guy?"

"Yes!" the Ghostwriter nearly cried in relief, turning his face towards the sky. "My dear Boreas, my beloved Bringer of Wind and Rain."

The newly arrived ghost made a noise in the back of his throat, then cleared it, shuffling awkwardly. "He's still running on a broken mindset. We don't know how to fix it, and if he keeps going like he is, then he's gonna kill a lot of people and the Ghost Zone will be a lot more crowded. I've been kind of dashing to and fro tryin' to get him to stop."

Standing slowly, feeling more aware of his ghostly-state than he had been in years, Ghostwriter held himself still as he regained his balance. 

"...You called him 'Boreas'." said the smaller of the other ghosts as he came closer and offered his hand. "Is there something we could call you instead of your title? I mean, I know a lot of ghosts who'd prefer to go by just their titles, and it's fine if that's what you do, but-"

"He would switch between the names of the Greek Muses when he spoke to me," the writer admitted, clutching his book to his chest as they started moving. "But he favored the names Erato and Melpomene." he grinned sheepishly, his face flushing. "That second one was usually when he claimed I was being overly dramatic."

"He's just up ahead," Freddy held out a hand to stop the smaller ghost from going forward. "Sidney, we should let the guy who might be able to stop him go first. I really don't want to watch you get zapped by a storm-ghost's angry fussin'." he took Sidney's hands in his own, using the lapels of his jacket to draw him close enough to shelter his head. "You go do your thing, tragedy guy, and please-" he stopped, then shook his head. "Just go stop him. That storm of his is tearing up half the town."

Ahead of them lay a wall of rain and lightning, the crackling of thunder surround the entire city.

Erato nodded, halting halfway through a step to turn back and hand them his book and pen. "In case something happens to me, would you very much mind finding my apprentice and pressing these into his care?"

With a nod, Sidney took them from him, sliding them into a careful crook of his arm inside the jacket. "Will do."

With a deep breath, Erato threw himself into the storm.

 

Inside the walls of the storm, it was a chaotic mess of noises, almost impossible to tell which way was actually up or down. 

"Boreas!" Erato called out, just once, hesitating before moving around any more than he already had. The wind whipped his insubstantial hair across his face, untying the neat bow of ribbon that had held it back before. "Boreas, please! Please listen to me!"

Burning eyes, green and angry, stared back at him from the edge of the storm, a deep rumble shaking the air. "You would lie to me and pretend to have his face? They took him from me, he has vanished from the world." a snort followed, Boreas pulling himself together from the dust and wind. "The Council," he spat out the word like a poison. "Took my Erato from me. He is no more, I have been told. So how dare you look as if you were him?"

Erato held up his hands, showing them in a symbol of surrender. "It is me."

 _"Lies."_ Boreas hissed.

"Boreas, please..." Erato swallowed, his entire form going still as he felt the ice forming around him. "You have been lied to, but it was not by me, it has never been by me. When you first took on your apprentice, when he ran into mine and our relationship was forged out of convenience and anxiety-fueled moments, you told me that it was lucky to have met me then."

The storm grew around them, thunder and lightning almost blocking out his words. 

"Please, if there's anything left of your sane mind, please just speak to me!" Erato reached out a hand, ink-stained fingers shaking from fear. "I don't want to lose you..."

Boreas stared at his hand, the electric green of his eyes dimming slightly. The storm calmed for a second, as if trying to decide between raging on or halting entirely. "...Erato?" he whispered, his jaw working on itself as he focused on the fingers in front of him. There was a moment, a heartbeat-like thrum in the air, and then the storm cleared, allowing the sun to shine through the clouds. 

"Yes, it is me." Erato said earnestly, offering both of his hands. "Please..."

A grin split across Boreas's face as he rushed forward, sweeping the smaller ghost into his arms and swinging around wildly, a booming laugh coming from deep within his chest. "ERATO!" he shouted, curling himself around the writer and dropping to his knees. 

"You scared me so much," came the soft response, followed by a quiet shriek as Boreas pushed him onto his back on the ground. Lifting up the tunic he wore, he inspected his torso, looking for any sort of injury. 

"You're safe." Boreas noted, pressing one hand against his stomach. "You aren't burnt out."

"What lies were you being told about me?" Erato laughed when his fingers spread across sensitive skin. 

Boreas didn't answer that, choosing instead to seal their mouths together, pulling the other closer when Erato wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

**Author's Note:**

> I have had this sitting in my files for a few weeks now, and I am sorry it has taken so long. 
> 
> Tell me what you think?


End file.
